


Guardian Angel

by SailorChibi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Play, Age Play Little Dean Winchester, Alternate Universe, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Castiel, Baby Dean, Compromise, Crying, Daddy Castiel, Diapers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Guardian Angel Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, Infantilism, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Little Dean, Pacifiers, Platonic Cuddling, Pre-Series, Protective Castiel, They're still hunters, alternate universe - littles are known, bobby is sneaky, bottles, castiel was assigned to dean, dean does not want to be little, dean represses his emotions, littles are granted guardian angels, non sexual age play, non sexual infantilism, platonic sharing a bed, sam still goes to university, thumb sucking, you take a test to figure out your classification
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-11-05 08:37:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11009841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorChibi/pseuds/SailorChibi
Summary: Dean doesn't care what a piece of paper says. He is not a Little. And because he's not a Little, that means he doesn't need a guardian angel.Castiel disagrees.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This kinda came to me out of no where. I mentioned it to a friend and they decided they wanted to commission the story. I freely admit that the timeline is a little screwy, so please don't pay too close attention to it. I also realize that the title of this fic is very close to the one I wrote called "Guardian Angel Therapy" but I couldn't help myself. I'm unoriginal and I apologize.

On the day of Dean's sixteenth birthday, he wakes up to two surprises. Number one is the full breakfast that Bobby and Sam cooked for him, and number two is the drive that he and Bobby take into Sioux Falls once they're done eating and Sam's passed out into a food coma. Bobby actually lets Dean drive for once, which is pretty sweet. The enjoyment runs out quickly once Dean realizes where they're headed.

"You're serious," he says flatly, staring up at the building. "Does Dad know?"

"No," Bobby says, in that tone that means that this is yet _another_ subject that he and John have argued endlessly about. "Your daddy is convinced that you and Sam are going to turn out to be baseline, so there's no need to have you tested. Which is illegal, I'd just like to point out."

Dean shoots him a look. "Since when have you cared about the law?" He and Sam aren't in any one school long enough for people to pay attention to their records. He knows that John is counting on that fact. His father's made it clear that he doesn't want Dean or Sam taking the test. If he knew where Dean and Bobby were right now, he'd blow a gasket.

Of course, John would have to be here to know. And he's not. It's nothing new, but somehow - even after twelve years - it still stings.

"I don't. But I do care about you boys. Dean, not knowing about your classification is as bad as fighting against it. If you're fortunate enough to be baseline, that's great. We'll leave and never say another word about it. But if you're anything else, then I just want you to be prepared. Hitting your twenty-first birthday and waking up to a knot on your dick or a desire to drop to your knees is not something I want you suffering through. It's confusing and scary as hell and not necessary when all it takes is a simple blood test."

He swallows, glancing at the building again. "Do you really think I'm not baseline?"

The pause before Bobby answers is miniscule, but it still speaks volumes as far as Dean's concerned. Particularly since all Bobby says is, "I don't know. I'm not a doctor."

"Bobby."

"Honestly? No. I don't."

The obvious question is to ask what Bobby thinks he is, but Dean's afraid of the answer. He opts to take the coward's way out, pushing open the driver's side door and stumbling out of the pick-up truck. Bobby accompanies him into the building. The nurse at the front desk smiles at them both, takes Dean's information down, and then removes a small vial of blood from his arm. She tells him they'll have the results in eight to twelve weeks - it takes longer because Dean's so young, and they need more time to extract the appropriate cells.

Eleven weeks later, an envelope shows up at Bobby's house. Dean isn't there to get it. He doesn't see the envelope until almost a year and a half later, after a trip to a werewolf den leaves both him and John with some injuries and Sam with a major attitude over not being allowed to help. They detour to Bobby's house to get some rest, and he wakes up the very next morning to find the envelope on his pillow.

He opens it. His hands go numb with shock when he sees the conclusion, drawn right there in unavoidable black type. He doesn't cry, though he wants to because it's just so unfair. He rips the papers into tiny pieces and flushes them down the toilet. When he joins the others for breakfast, John demands to know why his eyes are red. Dean makes up a lie and studiously avoids Bobby's knowing eyes. 

No one will _ever_ know if Dean has his way. 

And for the next three and a half years, it actually works. If he takes to sleeping in his own bed instead of sharing with Sam, that's just because Sam kicks too much. If he gets up every morning before Sam and John to strip his bed, that's his own business and no one else's. If he cries in his sleep, or continues the bad habit of sucking his thumb when he's nervous, or sometimes wants a hug more than _anything_ else - it doesn't matter.

None of it matters.

On Sam’s sixteenth birthday, they coincidentally end up at Bobby’s again. Well, John thinks it’s a coincidence. Dean knows better. He doesn’t go with them, but he does distract John so that his father’s not paying attention when Sam and Bobby slip out of the house. Sam looks a little bemused when they return; Dean carefully avoids meeting his eyes and pretends to be busy. Much to his surprise, Sam doesn’t try to corner him. Which is curious – Sam’s so nosy – but Dean’s too grateful to really care why.

At least until the following year, when Sam announces that he wants to go to college. It’s not a surprise exactly. Sam’s always been too smart for his own good; he skipped grades here and there when they moved to new towns and the tests the schools gave him proved he was intelligent enough to be moved ahead. H’s always had a passion for books. Always been a little too interested in how the legal system works. And on the one hand, it’s not a bad thing to have someone with a background in hunting as a lawyer.

On the other hand, Sam’s seventeen and John is furious and it causes a fight between them the likes of which Dean’s never seen before. They scream at each other for close to three hours and nearly come to blows twice before Sam storms out. It ends with Sam spitting mad as he drags a suitcase up the stairs of the bus and John coldly telling him not to come back. 

It ends with Dean slipping into a headspace for the first time in his life. He doesn’t recognize it at the time, but he just barely makes it back to the motel. John is gone, but Dean can’t find it in himself to care. He curls up in a corner of the crappy, rundown motel room and wets his pants within twenty minutes. He doesn’t get up to change even though he knows he should. He just stays there in the corner and cries into his hands, and it’s a pipe dream but god he wishes John would come back to take care of him.

Which is dumb. John hasn’t taken care of him since Dean was five. But he still wants it _desperately_. Had there been a functioning phone in the room, he might’ve called Bobby. But there isn’t, and eventually he cries himself to sleep, one arm wrapped around his belly and thumb tucked firmly in his mouth.

In the morning, he cleans himself up and pretends it never happened. He takes the bus back to Sioux Falls (because John, in his fit of rage, took off with the Impala, and Dean doesn’t know what else to do but keep hunting), leaves a note on the kitchen table and then borrows one of Bobby’s cars in the middle of the night. He’s pretty sure that Bobby will be pissed, but the alternative is actually talking to Bobby and there’s no way that’s happening.

So that’s where things are on Dean’s twenty-first birthday. John barely calls except to tersely direct Dean to hunts. He drops by Stanford once to visit Sam, but Sam makes it very clear that he doesn’t want Dean around and Dean takes the hint. Bobby will call once in a while, but most of those conversations are filled with awkward silences. Bobby asks once, and only once, if Dean wants to come live with him. Dean hangs up, and the next time Bobby calls he doesn’t ask again.

Dean’s driving on the highway out of Oklahoma, heading into Arkansas, when the clock flips over to midnight. He’s watching it out of the corner of his eye in spite of himself, because he’s heard some interesting stories. Omegas who immediately went into a writhing heat. Alphas who went into rut. Subs and doms who dropped _hard_. Pets who lost their minds to their animal headspaces and went feral. Littles…

Well. Dean watches the clock, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. Some would call him a fool for driving at this moment considering his official classification, but Dean doesn’t care about those people. He’s been doing just fine until now. It doesn’t matter what anyone says about your biology going into overdrive after you hit twenty-one. He’s not going to let a piece of paper tell him what he can and can’t do with his life. He’s a hunter, end of story.

Finally, the glowing numbers shift to read 12:00am. In spite of himself, Dean holds his breath. When nothing happens for another couple of minutes - and honestly, h couldn't say what he was expecting even if he tried - he starts to feel a little silly. He shakes his head at his ridiculous behavior and rolls the window down to feel the cool night air on his hot face. 

"Hello, Dean."

"Son of a bitch!" Dean slams on the brake instinctively, which turns out to be a really dumb idea when he's going 70mph. The brakes squeal and the wheel shudders beneath his hands. He has to fight to keep the truck from spinning out of control; it still lurches back and forth across the line a couple of times. A hand cuts across Dean's vision and touches the steering wheel. Just like that, the truck dies and immediately comes to a perfect stop.

Tempting though it is to just sit there for a moment and regain his bearings, Dean hauls his gun out of the waistband of his pants and points it at the man now sitting in the passenger seat of the pick-up. He has no clue who this guy is or how he managed to get into a car traveling on the highway. He _knows_ that the truck was empty before he got in. There was no one in the backseat. This is impossible.

The guy looks slowly down at the muzzle of the gun, eyebrows furrowing as though in puzzlement. Then, before Dean can stop him, he sets a finger against the gun. It disappears. Dean yelps in shock, jerking his hands back. His elbow hits the door handle and the door swings open behind him, nearly dumping him on his ass. Only his seatbelt saves him. He scrabbles with it for a few seconds, trying to get the stupid thing to release before this guy - a creature of some kind, obviously - does the same trick to him.

"Don't!" Dean yells when the guy reaches for him, but all the guy does is touch the seatbelt. It releases like magic and Dean scrambles out of the truck, cursing himself for loading his (pathetic, considering most of the weapons he owns are in the trunk of the Impala) arsenal into his bag instead of keeping it within arm's reach.

Something flutters in the air, like wings, and when Dean turns around the guy is standing right behind him. Dean rears back against the truck, heart pounding in panic as he gropes for the knife that he taped underneath the driver's seat. It's made of pure silver, and it's a long-shot but it's the only weapon he can get his hands on -

"Dean," the guy says, all patient like Dean is the weird one here, "I am Castiel, an angel of the lord. I have been assigned as your guardian."

"... What?" Dean says blankly, finally getting his fingers around the handle of the knife.

The guy - Castiel? - frowns. "I was told that all Littles received information about their guardian angels when they received their classification notice."

Suddenly, with an increasing sense of discomfort, Dean remembers those other pieces of paper he'd torn up. He hadn't read anything beyond his classification. He hadn't wanted to see. Didn't want to know. He still doesn't. He wrenches the knife free, concealing it behind his back.

"I'm not a Little," he growls out. "And I don't care who or what the hell you are, you've got about two seconds to beat it before I make you sorry."

"You are a Little, and I am your guardian," Castiel repeats. "Come now. Babies should not be playing with knives. You could hurt yourself." He sounds faintly admonishing as he lifts a hand.

To Dean's growing fury, the knife disappears. He's not sure whether that's his reason for punching Castiel, or whether it's being called a baby. Either way, he gets a broken hand for his trouble. The tears come embarrassingly fast, streaming down his face as pain surges up and down his arm. Castiel gives him this disappointed look and grabs his wrist before Dean can pull away. In a flash of soft yellow light, the pain is gone and Dean is left staring in awe and a rising sense of panic.

He's so screwed.


	2. Chapter 2

So it turns out that guardian angels actually are a thing. Dean sits back from the computer with a growing sense of disbelief that now borders on hysteria, because he can’t believe his father never once mentioned that angels are a Thing That Exists. Considering that John hammered information about every other supernatural creature into their brains, it’s a little hard to believe that he – what? Didn’t know? Unlikely. John Winchester was nothing if not determined when it came to hunting.

Chances were, John had found out about angels, nosed around into what they did on Earth, and decided it wasn’t important. Which, fair. Everything Dean’s found on the internet says that angels are not dangerous to humans. The only documentation Dean can find about an angel hurting _anyone_ is when said angel’s Little had been threatened and/or hurt. Apparently, angels are pretty protective.

He drops his head into his hands, resisting the urge to throw a tantrum. This can’t be happening.

“Dean? Are you well?”

Nope, not happening. Dean grits his teeth. The other part would be, of course, that John didn’t like Littles. He’d never come right out and said anything to Dean or Sam, but the disdainful looks and muttered comments about ‘weirdos’ and ‘freaks’ made it more than clear where he stood on the subject. As a baseline, John was of the opinion that other classifications were weird. He tolerated alphas, doms and masters well enough, but the other end of the spectrum? Not so much.

“Dean,” Castiel says again.

“Go away!” Dean hisses. He’s been hoping that Castiel will get the hint and go away, but the man is worse than a dog after a bone. He reappeared in the passenger seat after Dean left him on the side of the road and accompanied Dean all the way into the next town. He sat through the tests Dean applied (silver, holy water, the works) without protest, but since then he’s made any weapon vanish the instant Dean picks it up, and – the two times Dean’s lost it on him – just looks at Dean with this calm, patronizing smile that really does make Dean feel like a child.

Worst of all is the way _everyone_ defers to Castiel. It’s like Dean has a sign over his head that announces his status as a Little (even though he still looks the same as he did yesterday) and that Castiel is his guardian, so Dean is no longer capable of making decisions for himself. The waitress at the freaking diner where he went for breakfast this morning even acted like Castiel was going to order for him! It’s super annoying. 

“I can’t leave. I am your –”

“Yeah, yeah, guardian angel, I got it the first twenty times,” Dean snaps.

“I’m not sure why you’re having so much difficulty adjusting,” Castiel says, frowning. “I was told that most Littles are exceedingly happy to receive their guardian angel.”

Dean winces, a flicker of guilt piercing through the outrage. Because yeah, he’d found that information too. Most of the posts from the Littles he’d read contained glowing accounts of their guardian angels. Those who were under the age of twenty-one almost universally shared excitement and anticipation about their twenty-first birthdays. Apparently it’s supposed to be this amazing experience of transferring your care from your human guardians (parents or otherwise) to the angel that would care for you until your death.

“Putting that aside, I don’t see how this is a good gig for you,” Dean says, keeping his voice down. The last thing he needs is the attention of other library patrons. “Why would you want to take care of some drooling baby for eighty years? That doesn’t sound fun. There’s gotta be something else you want to do.” He feels like the ‘so go do that and leave me alone’ is implied.

Castiel looks surprised by the question. “It is our Father’s will that we care for those who are most innocent,” he says, and that’s not at _all_ creepy. “Littles are the one classification with no human match. Caregivers died out a long time ago. Therefore, caring for a Little gives my brethren and me a purpose and helps to teach us humanity. It is a requirement for all angels now.”

“It wasn’t always?”

“No. Those were not good times.” He frowns again, but not at Dean. This time it’s inward, like he’s remembering something that makes him very sad. Uncomfortable, Dean gets up.

“Well, I don’t need someone taking care of me so I guess you’re gonna have to go back upstairs and get yourself a new Little,” he says. He doesn’t want or need anyone caring for him, but definitely not someone who isn’t really interested in the job.

“I was assigned to you,” Castiel says simply. “You are my charge, Dean.”

“Can’t you just get reassigned?”

“That’s not how it works.”

“So if I die, you just get shafted?” Dean raises his eyebrows.

“Why would you die?”

“I’m a hunter. Doesn’t exactly come with a long lifespan.”

“Babies should not hunt.”

“Stop calling me that,” Dean hisses. The word prickles under his skin, calling attention to things he’d much rather ignore. 

“But it’s what you are,” says Castiel in that annoying, matter-of-fact way. “You were classified as a baby in the six to twenty four months range. My estimate is sixteen months. On a good day.” He narrows his eyes, like he can see into Dean’s soul. “You’ll be younger at first because you’ve denied yourself so long. Your soul is so small, but heavy with pain.”

“And stop saying stuff like that,” Dean commands, pointing a finger in Castiel’s face. “Look, this isn’t going to work. I’m not giving up hunting. It’s what I do. And I’ve been doing just fine until now. Clearly, someone upstairs got their wires crossed. I’m sure there’s a cute Little who would love to have you for a guardian angel, but that Little is not me. I don’t need anybody.”

Castiel is quiet, surprisingly. Dean seizes his chance and grabs his jacket, slinging it on as he walks out of the library. He’s hopeful that maybe this time, Castiel has taken the hint to go away. But those hopes die a quick death when he turns the corner to the street his motel is on and immediately makes out a familiar shape leaning against the truck's hood. Dean could scream with frustration. Nothing online indicated that angels were so _stubborn_.

“Not all angels are given the opportunity to tend to young Littles,” Castiel says when Dean is within hearing range. “My brother Balthazar, for example, was assigned to a teen Little. He is most content accompanying his Little to parties. My sister Anael was assigned to a pre-teen Little. It suits her; she enjoys having ‘personal space’.” Castiel speaks those two words as though they mean nothing to him, and based on the past twelve hours Dean would believe it. “My brother Samandriel was assigned to a young child. He is not old enough himself to care for a baby or toddler.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Dean says, weary to the bone. He’s tired of having the same conversation for the tenth time in as many hours.

“I was assigned to _you_. My brethren know me. They know you. They have watched over you, as all Littles are watched, from the time of your birth. They assigned me to you because you need me. I will not leave you, Dean. I am here to stay.”

Dean’s throat goes tight. He’s speechless for all of a moment, staring at those steady eyes. It shouldn’t affect him the way it does; he doesn’t even know Castiel. They’re strangers. And he definitely doesn’t want Castiel around. But at the same time, hearing someone promise that they won’t leave… it _gets_ to him. Mary left. Sam left. John left. Everyone leaves, that’s what Dean knows.

“I don’t want you here,” he gets out finally, except it comes out all broken and raw and doesn’t sound the least bit convincing. 

“I don’t think that is true,” Castiel says, not unkindly.

Dean ignores that. “I’m not stopping my hunts, either. So at the very least, you need to stop making my weapons disappear.”

“You might hurt yourself.”

“Yeah?” Dean sneers at him and punches the wall. The knuckles in his hand throb. “Look at that. Hurt myself and I’m still standing.”

Castiel starts to reach for him, but Dean dodges the touch. For the first time, a hint of impatience flashes across Castiel’s face. “You’re being very stubborn.”

“I could say the same for you. I don’t want you here, okay? This” he jerks a hand between them “is under protest. But if you really insist on sticking around, then you can either shut up or you can help me hunt.” And the only reason Dean’s even going that far is because he couldn’t find a damn thing on the internet about keeping angels away. One site had made a brief mention of holy oil and some kind of ward that could be drawn in human blood, but hadn’t said what either one of those would actually do. Not that it really matters, because Dean has no idea where you’d even get holy oil and the description of the ward had been frustratingly vague.

He tells himself he’d rather Castiel left altogether. But if there’s no way to make Castiel leave – and there doesn’t seem to be, since all of Dean’s arguments are falling on deaf ears, and he never thought he’d envy the way Sam can talk circles around anyone – then at least he’ll have a half-decent hunting partner again. Would certainly make hunts easier, at any rate.

“Help you hunt?” Castiel repeats. “I don’t think that’s why I’m here. When I shadowed Gabriel, he did not allow his Little to hunt.”

“I guess I’m special,” Dean says with a forced smile. With any luck, Castiel will soon realize that Dean has zero interest in being a Little and will take the hint to leave. He forcefully ignores the tiny part of him that actually wants the angel to follow through on that promise to stick around.

Everyone leaves eventually.

Castiel scrutinizes him again. “If I agree,” he says at last, “will you allow me to heal your hand?”

Dean blinks at him, automatically flexing the fingers of his hand. It hurts, yeah, but it’s not even a tenth of the worst pain he’s ever felt. That time he got on the business end of a werewolf’s claws comes to mind. But it’s an easy enough concession to make, so he shrugs and nods. “Sure.”

The hair on the back of his neck goes up when Castiel touches him. Though he looks like a regular human, his touch just feels… weird. The golden glow is soothing though, and this time when he flexes his hand there’s no pain. He looks up, planning to thank Castiel because his mother did drum some manners into him, and stops when he realizes that the angel is standing way too close. He finds himself holding his breath when Castiel’s hand lands on his shoulder and just stays there.

“If you change your mind…” Castiel begins.

“I won’t.” Dean forces himself to take a step back, dislodging Castiel’s hand with a shrug of his shoulder. “I’m not like other Littles, okay? I don’t need all that crap. I can function just fine.”

For a second he thinks Castiel is going to argue, and he tenses in preparation. But in the end, Castiel doesn’t say anything and Dean decides to count that as a win. He ducks around Castiel and reaches for the driver’s side door of the truck. His original plan was to stick around in the town for a couple more days, but he’s uncomfortable with the idea of staying in a place where so many people have pegged him as a Little already.

He slides into the driver’s seat and switches the truck on, half-hoping that Castiel won’t pop into the truck – but of course that doesn’t happen. No sooner has Dean flipped the truck into reverse than there’s an angel sitting beside him, looking out the window like the sight of a puppy is just _so_ fascinating. Dean just rolls his eyes and finds himself wondering how this is now his life.


	3. Chapter 3

Much to Dean’s consternation, Castiel turns out to be a very good partner when it comes to hunting. Who knew that angels could be so badass? The first time Dean watches Castiel plow through a (unexpected) horde of vampires, hands glowing as he smites vampires left and right, Dean comes to the conclusion that angels are wasted as guardians to Littles. If they were hunters, there would be a hell of a lot less evil in the world.

“It is not what we’re meant for,” Castiel says when Dean brings it up. They’re sitting in a roadstop diner, and Dean is deep into a cheeseburger and fries and a chocolate milkshake. Castiel is sitting across from him, watching as Dean eats. 

“But you could protect everyone,” Dean protests. He can’t fathom having all of this power and not using it for good. “Dude, you could snap your fingers and every vampire in the world could disintegrate!”

The look Castiel gives him is surprisingly fond. “I appreciate your belief in my power, Dean. But that would be beyond my capabilities.”

Dean squirms under the look and averts his eyes. They’ve been traveling together for about three weeks now. It was touch-and-go the first couple days, but, as soon as he found out what a good hunter Castiel is, Dean can admit he warmed up considerably. It’s even kind of nice having another person around again. The fact that the person in question can heal any wounds immediately and kick ass is just a bonus.

Of course, the whole ‘Little’ thing is still the one bone of contention between them. Dean had to ban Castiel from coming into the hotel room after the morning when he woke up to find that he’d wet the bed again and Castiel had picked him up and was muttering something about diapers. Literally _picked him up_. Not the most pleasant way to find out that angels had inhuman strength. 

Needless to say Castiel wasn’t happy, and Dean’s pretty sure that he ignores the ban and comes into the room while Dean is sleeping - sometimes Dean’ll wake up and feel like someone or something’s watching him, but nothing is ever there when he looks. Given that angels can fly, he figures it’s a pretty reasonable conclusion to draw. But Castiel just pulls this look of innocence whenever Dean asks, and Dean hasn’t caught him in the act yet, so…

It’s awkward.

“I’m just saying,” he mumbles finally. “It’s something to think about. You’re wasted hanging around me.”

“I have found that spending time with you is not a waste.”

Ugh. Who knew that angels could be so mushy? “I just meant, you’re a good hunter. If you paired up with someone like my dad, you could do awesome things.”

“You think I’m a good hunter?” Castiel repeats.

Surprised by Castiel’s surprise, Dean looks at him. “Sure? I mean, you just smited two dozen vampires without breaking a sweat. Yesterday, you snapped your fingers and blasted apart two werewolves. I’d say you’re pretty damn good.”

Castiel smiles, pleased. “Thank you, Dean. But I would not want to work with anyone else except for you. I find you are a good hunter as well.”

The earnestness of Castiel’s praise is embarrassing. Dean flushes. “I’m nothing compared to my dad or Bobby,” he mutters. “I’ve only been hunting for like twelve or thirteen years. And I was just a kid when I started out. They’ve got way more practice at it than me.”

“Do all children hunt?”

“No. Not that I know of.” Dean picks at a fry. It used to be weird, eating in front of Castiel, but he’s almost gotten used to it by now. “Most hunters try to keep their kids out of the life, I think. But my dad wanted Sammy and me to be able to protect ourselves. Demons killed my mom. I guess he never really got over it.”

“You were very young,” Castiel says. It’s probably not meant to be a criticism against John, but Dean can’t help reacting like it is.

“My dad did his best, okay? He could’ve dumped Sammy and me, but he didn’t. He wanted us with him.”

Castiel just nods. “Where is he now?”

That gives Dean pause. He shrugs. “I dunno. Um, ever since Sammy went off to university, Dad’s been keeping his distance. He was really mad that Sammy didn’t want to be a hunter anymore. Sometimes he’ll call me up and direct me to a hunt, but I don’t hear from him very often.” Less than ever, as a matter of fact. He tries to remember the last time John called and realizes he can’t. It was at least a week before Castiel showed up. He hasn’t talked to Sam either; Dean took the hint to stop calling after the twentieth call went unanswered.

“So you are alone,” Castiel surmises. “There is nothing to stop you from being Little.”

Dean sighs into his milkshake. “Would you give it a rest? I told you, I’m a hunter.”

“That does not mean you don’t have needs. Your biology is no different than any other Little I have met.”

“How would you know? Maybe I’m special.”

“You are special, but not for the reasons you believe. Dean.” Castiel leans forward, catching his eye. “If you continue to deny yourself, it will not end well. Eventually, something in you will break down. I will be there when it happens, but it will be an easier process on you if you were to give in rather than letting it break you.”

The thought of being broken is terrifying. Dean swallows hard. “I won’t let it break me,” he says, voice sounding weak even to his own ears.

“You won’t have a choice.”

“I’m a hunter. I’ll be fine.”

“Can you not be both?”

Dean stops, speechless. He stares at Castiel. Somehow, that never occurred to him. Hunters and Littles are at the opposite end of the spectrum in his mind. They don’t mesh. He’s always thought that he could be one or the other, but that he couldn’t be both. And being a hunter was always the clear winner, mostly because he doesn’t know how to be anything else.

“Both?” he whispers.

“Yes, little one,” Castiel says gently, daring to touch Dean’s hand. “Both. Most Littles are in their headspace all the time, but you are one of the rare few who possess a remarkable ability to compartmentalize. You don’t need to be in your headspace permanently if you don’t want to. And, having seen how important it is to you, I would not stop you from hunting. I’m merely suggesting that you allow yourself to be Little when you’re not.”

It’s the kind of compromise that Dean never imagined. He can’t imagine agreeing. He pulls his hand back. “I, um, there’s a hunt a couple hours away. We should get going.”

Castiel nods. “Please think about it.”

“Whatever,” Dean mumbles. His hands shake as he tosses cash on the table and blunders towards the door. In his weakest moments, maybe he’s wondered what it would be like to give into that side of himself. But he’s never dared. What would John or Sam say?

Of course, Castiel follows him out to the truck. As Dean turns the truck on, Castiel says, “Just think about it.”

Rather than answer, Dean flips the radio on. He’s inordinately grateful for the rock song that roars out, obscuring anything else that Castiel might say. He swings back out onto the highway and presses the accelerator almost to the floor, as though by putting enough miles between him and the diner, he can put enough space between him and Castiel’s words. 

They don’t talk about it for the next two days. They tackle a werewolf in Louisiana and are on their way out of state when Dean’s phone rings. He grabs it without looking at the screen, fully expecting that it’ll be Bobby with a new hunt, and shoves it between his ear and shoulder. “Hey Bobby.”

“… Dean?”

The truck swerves and Castiel looks over at him. Dean stares straight ahead, heart hammering. “Sammy?”

“Yeah, except I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve told you to call me Sam,” Sam grumps. “I’m a not a two-year-old anymore.”

“I know that,” Dean says, and he really does, but part of him wishes that weren’t the case. Life was a lot easier when the only concern he had was whether or not there was enough food to last him and Sam the week, even if it didn’t seem that way at the time. Hearing Sam’s voice makes his chest hurt. 

“Sure you do,” Sam says skeptically. “Look, I called ‘cause Bobby pointed out it’d been a while since we talked and he said I should make sure you weren’t dead.”

“You talked to Bobby?” Dean doesn’t know what his voice sounds like, but it can’t be good because Sam hesitates.

“Yeah, sometimes. Not very often.”

Bobby, but not Dean. His stomach feels like it’s turning inside out. He has to force himself to concentrate on the road. “Well, I’m still alive,” he says, trying to sound more cheerful than he feels.

Sam snorts. “Obviously. Where are you?”

“Just leaving Louisiana,” Dean says. He could add details. Tell Sam about how the werewolf wasn’t who they thought it was, and how the creature got the jump on Dean. How it pinned him to the ground and threw his knife away. How awesome Castiel was for appearing out of nowhere and smiting the werewolf on the spot, eyes burning with holy fire.

But he doesn’t.

“Oh. Cool.” Sam pauses. The awkward silence is telling. “My classes are going good.”

“That’s great, Sammy. Sam.”

Another long pause. “So… I guess I can tell Bobby we talked now.”

“Yeah, you can.”

“Cool,” Sam says again. “See ya, jerk.”

“See you,” Dean mumbles, blinking hard. Sam hadn’t called because he was worried about his big brother, or even because he legitimately wanted to make sure Dean wasn’t dead. No. It couldn’t be more obvious that Sam only called him because Bobby told him to. Apparently the years that they spent growing up together – years where Dean sacrificed a lot to keep his brother safe and healthy - don’t mean anything now that Sam wants to be free of hunting. Dean’s been relegated to the side as easily as Sam’s once-cherished set of supernatural books.

He ends the call and pulls over to the side of the road. His throat feels tight. All he’s ever wanted was to keep Sam safe and make John proud of him. And now it feels like those dreams are laying in pieces at his feet. He hasn't accomplished either one, and at this point he's pretty sure that'll never happen. Sam will never come back. John will keep sending him hunts, but Dean will never be good enough.

He'll be alone forever.

A hand touches his shoulder. "Dean."

Dean opens eyes that are suddenly blurry and turns his head to find Castiel's warm, familiar face inches away. "Cas," he whispers, voice gone embarrassingly shaky.

"I'm here," Castiel says, unbearably kind. "I'm here, sweetheart."

It's the promise or the nickname or both that does it; Dean can feel the tears running down his face before the first sob escapes. He tries to cover his face with his hands, but Castiel wraps him up in a tight hug and he discovers it's much easier to hide his face in Castiel's shoulder. He starts crying harder, soaking the sleeve of Castiel's hideous tan trenchcoat.

"Shh, little one. I'm here," Castiel murmurs, not letting go. "Would you allow me to care for you?"

So many instincts surge to the surface, demanding that Dean say no, but tempering them all is a wave of exhaustion so potent that Dean feels ill. He's just so _tired_ of being told he's wrong at every direction. Maybe this is one way that he can be right. So he nods, just once, and feels the familiar swooping feeling that means that Castiel is flying them away.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean wakes up to two things: the kind of splitting headache you only get from crying yourself to sleep, and the sight of some god-awful, bright pink wallpaper that is straight out of the worst of the 80's. He groans, letting his eyes slip shut and bringing a hand up to further shield them from that monstrosity. Unlike all those books where people wake up and have a precious few moments where they don't remember what happened, the disastrous talk with Sam is present in his brain from the get-go. As is Dean's humiliating breakdown.

"Dean? Baby, are you in pain?"

The sound of Castiel's voice is at once soothing and embarrassing, two conflicting emotions that leave Dean even more exhausted. "My head," he mumbles.

A hand settles on his hair, thumb stroking across his forehead. A cool sensation, like someone running a cold cloth across his skin, envelops his head, and the pain eases. Dean relaxes with it, risking another peek. Castiel is standing right in front of him, blocking the view of the hideous wallpaper. His expression is all concern, though he still smiles when he realizes that Dean is looking at him. 

"You've been asleep all night," Castiel tells him, not lifting his hand from Dean's head. "How are you feeling?"

"Like an idiot."

"You should not insult yourself for giving in to your biological needs," Castiel says, not unkindly. "I told you before, it was bound to happen. And you would not condemn a sub for going to their knees, would you? Or an alpha for going into a rut?"

Dean squirms a little. "That's different."

"In my experience, you only believe it's different because you hold yourself to a higher standard than you do everyone else." Castiel sits on the edge of the bed, close enough for Dean to feel his warmth. "Dean. Whether you like it or not, you _are_ a Little. That's not something you are capable of changing. If you continue to ignore it, it will kill you."

"What?!" Dean doesn't mean to yell, but he's never heard _that_ before. He starts to sit up, but Castiel easily pushes him back down.

"All angels are required to study humanity before we receive our charges, and during that study we are introduced to the small population of Littles who did not accept their classification. The reasoning is always different, but the result remains the same. First you will begin to lose your clarity of thought. You'll forget where you are and why you're there. You'll forget how to do complicated things, like driving. But before long, you'll forget how to do simple things. Feeding yourself. Washing yourself. Walking. Because you've denied your brain something that is integral, a part of it will burn out. And you will be left in a catatonic state."

Dean stares at him, horrified. "You're making that up."

Castiel shakes his head. "I wish I were, little one. I saw too many Littles who were broken and could not be fixed by medicine or grace. They were confined to medical centers until such time that their bodies stopped functioning, at which point they ascend to heaven. You, on the other hand, are too stubborn to go quietly. You would fight until the end, which leads me to believe that you would be on a hunt at the point where you burn out. And then you will die, probably within a year or two."

A lump forms in Dean's throat and he finds himself speechless. If someone were to ask, he would say that he's not afraid of dying. You can't be, not really, if you're a hunter. Dean faces death every time he looks a werewolf in the eye, or shoots a ghost in the belly, or lobs off a vampire's head. But he's never been able to squelch the idea that he would live to be an old man, either. Well, not an old man - but a man in his fifties at least, someone like Bobby. The idea of dying before he hits twenty-five is terrifying.

He doesn't remember finding this information when he was looking up Littles and guardian angels. So there's a chance Castiel is lying. Yet even as that thought passes through his head, Dean knows it's not true. What _is_ true is that he deliberately avoided any of the sites that talk about the ramifications of denying your classification because he didn't want to know. Because he told himself that if he ignored it long enough and with enough stubbornness, he could make the whole situation just disappear. He could be baseline, just like John, and not have to deal with it.

"Your soul shines so brightly," Castiel says, sorrow painting his face. "I don't want to escort you to heaven any sooner than I have to, Dean."

"But I can't," Dean says, the words spilling out. 

"Why not?"

"I just - I can't."

"Look around you," Castiel tells him. "The only thing holding you back is your own fear."

Dean obeys the command, sweeping his gaze across the room. Suddenly the wallpaper doesn't seem like that big of a deal in lieu of the fact that he's wearing a diaper. An actual, puffy, crinkly, can't-even-close-his-legs-all-the-way-because-of-it diaper. And he didn't even notice until Castiel purposely drew his attention to it. He grabs for the diaper, intending to yank it off, but Castiel's hand closes around his wrist. The angel is stupidly immoveable even when Dean tries to yank away

"Let go!" he snarls.

"No. Dean, I've seen you wet yourself twice."

The blunt words make Dean freeze. His face heats up with shame. "Th-that's n-not -"

"I saw you," Castiel repeats calmly. "Once in that motel in Alabama. You had a nightmare and wet yourself. You got up and changed the sheets; you left the wet ones in the tub and climbed out the window rather than face the front desk. The second time was in Indiana. You were sitting in that diner having supper and you wet yourself again."

Dean opens and closes his mouth, but no words come out. He's so mortified he can't even think.

"Isn't it better to wear a diaper? That's what they're for. If you have an accident, the diaper will help. It's not your fault. Your body is designed this way."

"It's wrong," Dean hears himself say, as though from far away.

"Why?"

"Because... because hunters can't be babies. And Littles are disgusting. My father said so."

Castiel looks very angry for a split second, but all too quickly the anger is smoothed away. "Your father was wrong. You are living proof of that. You're a Little, and a baby at that, but you are also a hunter."

That stops Dean cold. He stares at Castiel. "What?"

"Your father was wrong," Castiel repeats patiently, somehow knowing that's the part that Dean needs to hear the most. "You don't have to be one or the other. I will not make you choose, not after seeing how important hunting is to you. I believe you would be miserable without it. So you can be both, and I will help you. That's why I'm here. To help you." He takes one of Dean's hands and just holds it. "I'm here for you."

"But I can't..."

"Yes, you can. You don't have nearly as much faith in yourself as you should, Dean. You are much stronger than you give yourself credit for. I will hunt with you. I find that I enjoy it."

"You do?" 

Castiel nods, eyes bright. "It has been a long time since my skills were required like this. I used to be a revered warrior in heaven, you know. My garrison was amongst the best. But that was back when our days were spent battling against demons, before our Father decreed that we should spend our time differently. I find that I enjoy having the chance to use my sword again."

There's a dirty joke somewhere in there that Dean is much too tired to make. "What if I can't?" he blurts out.

"What if you can't what?"

"What if I just end up being Little all the time?" Dean asks, avoiding his gaze. Because the thought is frightening, to be honest. If he can be both Little and a hunter, maybe that's not so bad. At least he would still be good for something as far as John is concerned; he would do everything to keep his dad from finding out. In his heart he knows that John's anger and disgust is inevitable, but he'll still do whatever necessary to put that day off for as long as he can. 

"I don't think that would happen. You are too strong-willed for that, and you adore hunting so much. It's a part of you that you are unable to escape, even if you tried." He squeezes Dean's hand very gently. "I will not lie to you. There might be a few weeks where you aren't able to hunt, but that's only because you've gone so long without letting yourself be Little. After that, you should be able to surface from your headspace without too many issues. I promise to help you the first couple of times if you can't do so by yourself."

And... the weirdest thing is, it hits Dean then that he actually trusts Castiel when the angel says that. Which makes zero sense, because Dean can count on one hand the number of people he trusts outside of his family. But Castiel has stuck with him over the past couple of weeks. He's proven himself to be an excellent hunter and a trustworthy partner. He's never pushed or threatened Dean into being Little, even though, from what Dean's seen, there's not much Castiel can't do. He's never stormed off in the middle of a fight, or told Dean he was being stupid, or once made fun of him for being a Little.

Of course, in the end, Dean doesn't have much choice. He doesn't want to shatter apart the way Castiel described. He vehemently ignores the tiny part of him that actually _wants_ to say yes. The part that has grown so much bigger over the past couple weeks in spite of how much Dean has been trying to ignore it. The part that is sick of having to fight every damn second of the day. The part that just wants a hug. The part that wants to rest and not worry about proving himself for just a little while. The part that sometimes imagines what Castiel would be like as a caregiver; the part that never stops wanting to find out. The part that he can't silence anymore.

"I'm scared," he says, instead of what he planned to say and do, which is shrug his shoulders and say 'whatever'. He can feel his face heating up from embarrassment. He hasn't said those words out loud since he was seven years old and John slapped him across the face for being scared because there was a ghost in the house with them. Fear doesn't have a place in a hunter's life. 

"I will help you. You just have to relax and trust me, Dean."

His throat is too dry to squeeze anything else out, so he settles for a nod. Castiel's smile is blinding. He puts his free hand on the back of Dean's head and pulls Dean into a hug. Dean goes into the embrace willingly enough, though it's hard to silence the voice at the back of his head that is pointing out how stupid and girly this is. He can't remember the last time he hugged another grown man, and that's the way it's supposed to be. Maybe this was a dumb idea - 

"You are not disgusting, little one," Castiel whispers against his head. "You are the exact opposite, and your father is a fool for not understanding that. You are exactly the way you are meant to be, and I will protect and care for you with everything that I have."

That cool feeling from before envelopes Dean once again, erasing months - no, years of stress and tension in the blink of an eye. When the feeling fades away, Dean doesn't feel any different. At first. 

Then, before he can stop himself, his breath hitches. Tears well up in his eyes, turning the room blurry. He tries to bite back the first sob, but it slips out. In seconds, he's full-on wailing at the top of his lungs.

"It's okay, baby. I'm here. You're not alone," Castiel coos, hugging him tightly. He rubs Dean's back and never once tries to tell him to stop. And that's probably a good thing because Dean _can't_ stop; the aching misery in his chest that he's ignored for so long is flaring up into this unstoppable ball of pain, and all he can do is cry about it.

He cries and cries until his head aches, and then Castiel presses a kiss to the side of his head and slides a pacifier into his mouth. Dean hangs limply on his shoulder, too worn to spit the pacifier out. It's strangely comforting in a way that he doesn't want to admit, almost as comforting as the heat of Castiel's body and the sound of his heartbeat as Castiel lifts him off the bed and into his arms. He holds Dean exactly the way someone would hold a baby, bracing Dean against his hip with an arm around Dean's bottom. 

"You're going to be okay," Castiel murmurs, the words rumbled into Dean's ear like the sweetest promise. "You'll be okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'd really like to come back to this verse at some point... maybe with a fic where John and Sam discover Dean's orientation and John doesn't handle it well? I think it would be interesting.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://tsuki-chibi.tumblr.com/).


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